A couple of months ago, I attended my first estate sale. I had seen the flyers advertising the hours and was curious about what it would be like. Although I’ve lived in the U.S. for a number of years, this was a new experience for me.
When I stepped inside the house, I found myself walking
through a life frozen in time. The house belonged to someone who had recently
passed away, and everything had to be sold before the property went on the
market.
There was stuff everywhere. It didn’t take long to realize
that this person had likely traveled the world—there were souvenirs from all
over. I noticed clothing with price tags still attached, scarves, purses, shoes
still in their boxes, and university merchandise - also untouched; kitchen
brimming with platters, dishes, and vases. Judging by all the items, I assumed a
single woman must have lived there. Perhaps she had attended a prestigious
university, or maybe it was her children who had.
I picked up a few items, but something stopped me from
taking them home. I ended up buying only a university cap for a couple of bucks
since my children attended the same school and it would come in handy when we
go to attend a game or something. As I wandered through the rest of the house,
I couldn’t help but wonder. Did she live alone? Did she have children? If she
did, why didn’t they want her belongings?
The thought haunted me; one day, my own children could
find themselves in this very position—sorting through the things I’ve spent a
lifetime accumulating.
The experience stayed with me, stirring questions far beyond
material possessions. A few days later, I spoke with a friend who had held an
estate sale after her mother passed away. She’s an only child, and she
explained how her house was already overflowing with her own things. She
couldn’t hold onto much of her mom’s belongings and ended up selling items for
pennies and then donating a truckload.
Her story resonated deeply. I started looking around my own
home with new eyes. The piles of books I haven’t read, the clothes I’ve
outgrown, the knick knacks collecting dust—they suddenly felt less like
treasures and more like burdens my children might one day have to deal with.
As first-generation immigrants, we started our lives here
with just two suitcases. In the beginning, everything we bought was intentional,
it was useful things we needed. But over the years, we’ve accumulated so much
stuff —souvenirs from our travels, kitchen items because they were on sale and
don’t know when we might need them, winter coats for that one time it’s going
to snow and yes, those four boxes labeled “Christmas Stuff.” When I asked my
three children if they would want any of it, their response was unanimous: No.
Going to the Estate Sale was a wake-up call. I was at Costco
last month and had hoarded my cart with shoes as they were on clearance but
ended up putting them back. They did bring me joy but I’m learning not to buy
things at all unless they truly serve a purpose. I had at least one “Yeah Me”
moment.
The Estate sale reminded me that at the end of it all, what
truly matters isn’t the stuff we leave behind. It’s the love, stories, and
moments we pass on.
My new year’s resolution is to collect memories,
not stuff and get rid of all the things which nobody wants.
Have you made a resolution for this year?
"The best things in life aren’t things." – Art Buchwald
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